Stir Crazy
by cate's corner
Summary: A short tag to Search And Rescue. Evan's bored. So is Sheppard. You just know it won't end well.


Stir Crazy by catescorner

Well, it had to happen eventually. The dreaded germs have won, and I've come down with a stinking cold.

Still, I'm always one to make the best of things - and spending the day with my favourite Major is never a hardship. So with meds and mischief in mind, here's my latest tag for Search & Rescue, as Evan recovers from his injuries, and tries to keep the boredom at bay.

I've used a bit of licence with Evan's injuries, adding a dislocated knee to the rest of his suffering - simply because I've suffered one myself, and I like to share the misery around. Believe me, after a dislocated knee, a headcold is a mere discomfort.

Enjoy!

Stir Crazy

Evan Lorne still remembered the first time he broke his leg. The date, too. May sixth, 1980. His tenth birthday. One that he'd never forget. And one that he'd been damn lucky to survive.

Even at that tender age, he'd been born to explore. Destined to fly. Just _not_ from his bedroom window. And it had been one hell of a way for his mom to find out that he'd started sleepwalking again.

Still, once all the panic and drama had died down, it had been kinda neat to have his leg in plaster. All his schoolfriends had visited him, and written funny messages and cartoons on it. That had made him laugh. Mom had fussed over him, too. That's when he'd developed his love of double chocolate cookies.

But then the novelty had started to wear off. Reality had taken hold instead, and it had hurt like hell. While his friends enjoyed summer break, he'd been stuck in hospital, for long and painful therapy.

Now, he faced more weeks of enforced idleness. Four days in, and he was already stir crazy. Life after surgery for a broken shin and dislocated knee, he sourly reflected, _officially_ sucked.

Of the two injuries, the leg break had been the worst. His tibia, in two places, just below the knee that had been wrenched out of its natural place. No wonder it had hurt so much when Carter's rescue team had finally pulled him to safety. Keller had done a good job, though, and she'd assured him that he'd make a complete recovery. But if he moved too suddenly, the ligaments in his knee popped in protest, and that _really_ hurt.

The only way he could get around was on crutches, and that was more tiring than it looked. Even when he _did_ escape his quarters, morale-boosting trips to see his teams were frustratingly short. Already short handed, and with his absence to cover too, they were at full stretch to keep Atlantis safe.

So most of the time, he'd stayed in his quarters, doing everything he could to stay usefully occupied. He'd rearranged his bookshelves. Twice. Cleaned, re-catalogued, and re-mounted his rock collection. Watched enough football to coach the 49ers. God knew, his languishing hometeam sure as hell needed the help.

And if he overdid it, which he'd inevitably done, his leg soon painfully reminded him that… it… was… bro-ken. And…it…hurt.

He'd learned that lesson yesterday, when he'd paid a call on Atlantis' other recuperating patient. To Sheppard's disbelief, he'd done what his CO had been trying to do, in vain, for the last five years.

And yes, War And Peace _was_ an addictive read. He had the sleepless night eyebags to prove it. Threatening to give away its ending, though, especially to John Sheppard, had been a definite no-no.

"_If you like_, _sir_, _I can tell you how it ends._"

That, he'd quickly discovered, had been the wrong thing to say. Sheppard had stared at him, aghast. Then he'd picked up a cushion, gesturing for his suddenly nervous second in command to go deep, real deep, for his famous Hail Mary.

He'd wisely obliged, hobbling out of his CO's quarters rather more rapidly than he'd entered. Made the catch, too. And who knew that cushions could be so impressively aerodynamic?

It had cost him, though. By the time he'd reached his quarters, he'd needed a double hit of painkillers. So today, he was sensibly keeping his head down, resting on his bed, his leg cradled on a nest of pillows.

Reading was still the most obvious way to pass the time, and he still had to finish Coughlin's offering. After the heaviness of War And Peace, a bundle of National Geographics would be a cakewalk. Still an enjoyable one, though. It had reminded him that Earth was a breathtakingly beautiful place.

He'd read the last one from cover to cover. Twice. He'd drooled over pages of F-15s in majestic flight. Closed his eyes, and pictured himself in the pilot's seat – screaming at Mach 1 over the Golden Gate.

Now he glanced at his watch, expecting it to be dinner time – and stared at its dial in utter dismay.

Five past one? Damn it, did his quarters lie in a space-time-warp that McKay didn't know about?

Dropping his head back onto the pillows behind it, Evan closed his eyes, and groaned in frustration. He had four more weeks of this to cope with, and by the time he tagged physio onto the end of it – well, it would be another month, at least, before he was fit enough for Keller to clear him back to duty.

Forget stir crazy, he'd be all out, chewing the walls insane by then, and… hello? He had company?

Startled by the sound of his door chime, Evan then brightened considerably as he hit the entry button. He'd take _any_ company right now, even McKay's, and… oh. Okay, so it wasn't Dr McEgo. Instead John Sheppard leaned against the doorframe.

His seemingly indestructible CO had clearly had enough of being stuck in his quarters too. Left them, no doubt, against Keller's orders. And he was clearly in the mood for some fun.

"Hey, Lorne… want to make life hell for McKay?"

Oh, he was going to regret this. He'd regret this, big time, but Evan still felt himself grinning back. Now that his CO was up and about again, those long weeks of recuperation would be _so_ much easier.

"Always, sir. What did you have in mind?"


End file.
